Good Girl Gone Good
by TraceyI
Summary: Sequel to Good Girl Gone Wild. Hermione and Draco try to figure out whether they can still have a relationship without a very important element. Now with several alternate endings to choose from! Rated M for Mature. HGDM
1. Ch 1, First Date

**Good Girl Gone Good**

By TraceyI

I promised myself that I was not going to put quill to parchment (as it were) again until after my vacation, but I can't help myself! This is a sequel to "Good Girl Gone Wild." If you enjoyed that story only because of the wild and inventive sex, you probably shouldn't read this one. The Fluff Monster has taken my muse hostage and demanded a silly romance as ransom. If you haven't read my earlier story, you're not going to understand anything that's going on. (Go ahead. We'll wait.)

This story will be much less "M" than my last one, although I'm still going to rate it "M" for "Mature," because, well, it's me.

I do not own Harry Potter. Can one really ever own anything like Harry Potter? Sorry, what was that? One can? Oh. Never mind.

Reposted to correct a couple of booboos.

**

* * *

Good Girl Gone Good **

Chapter 1

"First Date"

Hermione held on to Draco as if her life depended on it. At the moment, it did, but that was hardly the point.

They were flying. Even in the magical world, where it is fairly commonplace, flying is a wondrous sensation. The wind rushed at them, around them, through them, stinging their eyes and making Hermione's hair dance around them like a fiery demon.

At first, Malfoy flew very carefully, giving Hermione a chance to acclimate herself to the back of his broom. He relished the feeling of her small arms wrapped so tightly around his waist. Once he felt her trembling diminish and her death grip on him recede to a comfortable embrace, he set out across the lake, soaring high, diving low, splashing a little bit of water on her teasingly.

Hermione threw her head back and laughed with sheer exhilaration.

* * *

They sat high on a cliff, overlooking the lake and Hogwarts Castle, watching the full moon rise. As it cleared the horizon, the moon was tinted orange and looked almost larger than the castle. Draco leaned against a tree, and Hermione sat between his legs, enveloped in the warmth of his strong arms, his chin resting on the top of her head. 

"Draco?"

"Mmm?" he answered drowsily, completely relaxed.

"What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are we going to do with our time together, if we're not having sex?"

Draco poked his tongue into the inside of his cheek. "Come again?"

Hermione tilted her head back, and he tilted his forward, so that they were looking at each other upside down. "What are we going to do together, since we're not going to be having sex?"

"And why exactly will we not be having sex?"

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed in horror. "It's our first date! I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Hermione, you're killing me here. We have had sex . . ." he calculated on his fingers for a moment, "seventy-seven times, in . . . twenty-four different rooms of the castle, not to mention giving new meaning to the term 'Hogwarts Express.' For Merlin's sake, I banged you against the door to Dumbledore's office! That has to cumulatively count as at least one date, maybe two."

Hermione shook her head. "That wasn't me. That was the tumor."

"Well, the tumor was the self-proclaimed best fuck I ever had."

Hermione winced as though he had just said "Voldemort." "Please do not use that kind of language around me, Malfoy."

"I'm sorry, _Granger_, but that is how I talk. More to the point, that is how I am used to talking to _you_."

"Fine. Please take me back to school," she said, struggling to get up.

But Malfoy was much bigger and stronger than Hermione was, and his muscular arms held her firmly in place. He sighed. "I will try to watch my . . . _tongue_," he said, smirking and licking his lips. "Please don't go," he added seriously as an afterthought, drawing her in even tighter. "You have no idea what two weeks of non-stop sex, followed by ten days of celibacy, will do to a man."

"Celibacy?" Hermione asked in surprise. "You didn't, um, _do it_, with any of your trollops while I was in the infirmary?" She blushed at her own brazen use of the term "do it."

Malfoy shook his head. "Nope. I had some pretty saucy dreams, but they were all about you."

Hermione was flabbergasted. She had assumed that Malfoy had returned immediately to his "himbo" ways, but it seemed that he had been pining for her! "Can't have been any worse than mine," she admitted softly. "I spent the first full week in the infirmary, as Madame Pomfrey worked on shrinking my tumor with incredibly strong and toxic potions, in some sort of fever dream. The reason nobody was allowed to visit me was that Madame Pomfrey thought I was going to throw myself bodily on any person who came into the room. I essentially dreamed about having sex with you twenty-four hours a day for _seven days_."

Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably, and Hermione felt his growing arousal against the small of her back. "Um, Hermione? If you really don't plan on having sex with me tonight, then you should probably change the subject."

"Well, that was the point I was trying to make before," she pointed out. "What can we do if we're not having sex? I really don't know anything about you. What do you like to do?"

"I like to have sex."

"Yes, I had noticed that. What _else_ do you like to do? When you're _not_ having sex?"

"I study. How do you think I got to be Head Boy? Are you completely unaware that my grade point average is almost identical to yours? As a matter of fact, I got an 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts and all my other O.W.L.s, so I technically did better than you did, although you had more O.W.L.s than I did. I still haven't worked out how you managed that. In any case, I study, I play Quidditch, and I have sex. That's pretty much it. Occasionally I torment you and your friends, just to relieve the monotony. And, from what I've seen, you just study."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "So what are we going to talk about?"

"Can we talk about having sex?"

"No!" Hermione answered, getting annoyed.

"Hmm. What else can we talk about? I don't know. What's your favorite book?"

"_Hogwarts: A History_."

"OK, I've read that. We can discuss that. Do you play Wizard Chess?"

"Yes, but not as well as Ron does," Hermione admitted.

Malfoy's brows furrowed. "There's something that Weasley does better than you do?"

"Malfoy, please, watch what you say about Harry and Ron," Hermione pleaded. "I know you all hate each other, but for my sake, can't you at least try not to bad mouth them in my presence?"

"Sorry. They did not go up in my esteem when they just stood there while you were having a seizure. I don't think I can be nice to them. Will you settle for my ignoring them completely?"

"Deal."

"Do you like to travel?"

"I haven't had too many opportunities, but I love reading about strange and foreign lands. I was supposed to go to Bulgaria once to visit Viktor, but I chickened out."

Malfoy pulled Hermione back in his arms so that he could peer around her and into her face. "Why did you chicken out?"

Hermione blushed. "I . . . I got the impression from his letters that he wanted to have sex."

Malfoy tried valiantly to hide his laughter and changed the subject. "My family has estates in a number of countries, and I usually visit at least one each summer. _Parlez-vous français?_"

"_Mais naturellement._"

"_E può parlare l'italiano?_"

"_Certo!_"

"_¿Hablas español?_"

"_Solamente un poco, pero lo estoy estudiando._"

"OK, that's really something we can work with, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded happily. "You're right, it's a start. Although it's probably safe to assume that I won't be invited 'round to any of the _casas_ Malfoy any time in the near future."

Draco nodded ruefully. "We can fly together."

Hermione smiled. Although she had always been terrified of flying, she had felt completely safe soaring on the back of Malfoy's broom. She snuggled down into Draco's arms as she felt the first hint of a chill fall wind blow off the lake.

Malfoy noticed immediately. "Are you cold? Are you even allowed to be outside at night so soon?" Trying to disturb Hermione as little as possible, he removed his robes and draped them across her body like a blanket.

Under his robes, Malfoy rubbed Hermione's arms to try to bring more circulation to them and warm her. Hermione relaxed and settled even further into his warm embrace, turning her head from side to side gently, inadvertently causing her soft hair to rub against his throat and neck. Malfoy closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation.

"Draco?" Hermione began.

"Yes?"

"What if . . . What if we find that we don't like each other?"

"What do you mean, 'what if?' I'd say it's a foregone conclusion. I'm not a nice person, Hermione. I'm a Death Eater. I'm a selfish bastard. I'm only in it for myself. I resent the fact that you are allowed to attend this school, in fact that you even exist. We've hated and tortured each other for six years now. I don't foresee that changing overnight."

"Then I'm back to my original question: What are we going to do?"

"Well, we can always go back to fucking like rabbits. That's my vote."

Hermione slapped at him playfully, and Draco started tickling her. Hermione shrieked and squirmed, trying to get away from him. She managed to gain her feet and started to run, laughing, with Draco in hot pursuit. They chased each other around the tree several times, until Draco faked left, went right, and caught her up around the waist, twirling her around until they fell to the ground with dizziness.

Malfoy found himself lying on top of the Gryffindor Princess, looking down into her angelic face. He could tell that her cheeks were glowing pink from exertion even though the moonlight made everything appear to be in black and white. Her hair billowed around her like a cloud. He slowly lowered his head to kiss her. Hermione reached up to tangle her fingers in his flossy hair, which shone silver in the light from the full moon. He kissed her gently, barely brushing her lips. He balanced himself over her carefully so that he wouldn't hurt her. This delightful tease seemed to go on forever, until Draco finally opened his mouth slightly, his tongue running across Hermione's bottom lip. Hermione shivered a little, causing Draco to pull his head back and eye her with concern. Hermione hesitated for a moment, unsure, then lifted her head slightly and kissed him lightly. Their lingering kiss was different from all the wanton experiences they had had together previously, as it was fraught with tenderness and even, perhaps, the beginnings of genuine affection.

After what seemed an eon, Malfoy rolled over, carrying Hermione with him so that she was lying on top of him. He _accio_'ed his cloak and draped it over their bodies. Hermione pulled her lips from his and looked down, smoothing his long hair with her fingers, loving the texture. Draco brought his hands up to caress her sides, then, when he thought he had been quite patient enough, tried to slip his hand under Hermione's blouse.

Hermione jerked back. "Oh no you don't, Malfoy. None of that on a first date."

Malfoy's hands froze, and he closed his eyes in dejection and stunned rejection, his hands slowly dropping to his sides. "Hermione?" he finally whispered.

"Mmm?"

"What constitutes a date?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't know. Some combination of actually leaving the bedroom, preferably even leaving the castle, having a meal, that kind of thing."

Draco's face brightened. "Well, what about that time we had the picnic in Hagrid's pumpkin patch, when we ate trifle off each others' mfff mffff?" His last words were muffled by Hermione's hand over his mouth. She pulled Malfoy's robes over her head and buried her face in his chest, turning scarlet.

"That gave me the worst rash I've ever had," he heard her mumble through the dark material.

"Me too, but the fact remains that that should count as a date – we went out, we had something to eat." His sexy lips formed the kind of grin that only a Malfoy could muster.

Hermione poked her head out from under Malfoy's robes, rolled her eyes, and gave an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, all right, Malfoy. We'll call this our _second_ date. You can kiss me _and_ touch my breast."

"Bare?"

"Under the shirt, but over the bra."

"You're killing me here, Granger. You're killing me."

* * *

Late that night, as Draco lay awake looking at the ceiling, there came a soft knock at his bedroom door. He practically sprang out of bed and flung open the door, to find Hermione standing there nervously in dowdy white flannel pajamas that seemed somehow familiar. Although he wanted desperately to grab her and take her as he had so many times in the past, he just stood there patiently, hope springing eternal in his breast. 

"Draco?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I can't sleep. May I stay with you? I mean, just to sleep."

Malfoy caught his breath. "I can't sleep, either. I feel like I can hear you breathing through the walls, and it's driving me mad."

Hermione took a step back. "Really, Draco. I mean just to sleep. I just want you to hold me."

Draco took her hand in both of his and pulled it to his bare chest. Part of Hermione's brain noticed that he was wearing only his green silk pajama bottoms. "I will be a perfect gentleman," he swore, leading her to his bed and pulling back the covers. As she climbed into bed and he walked around to the other side, the recognition that had been wandering around in the back of his mind came to the fore. "Granger, is that your beautiful white nightdress?" he asked in horror.

Hermione nodded. "I transfigured it back."

"You're killing me, Hermione. You're killing me."

* * *

Translations: 

(In French): "Do you speak French?"

"But of course."

(In Italian): "And can you speak Italian?"

"Certainly!"

(In Spanish): "Do you speak Spanish?

"Only a little, but I am studying it."

**Author's Note: OK, I don't know how much of this kind of stuff I can write without falling into a diabetic coma. Should I even consider continuing, or should I start something new and completely different? I honestly don't know where to go from here. All suggestions are welcome, so please read and review. You know how much I like it. :-) And don't get miffed if you don't hear from me for a little while; I'm going on vacation!**


	2. Ch 2, Falling

**Good Girl Gone Good**

By TraceyI

I'm baaack! London was the best vacation ever. I pretended I was 19 for a week, along with the greatest group of people it has ever been my pleasure to know – the gang from my junior year abroad. Ah, the good old days of pumpkin-orange mullets and piercing one's ears over and over and over again.

I have also invested in a bitchin' Lucius Malfoy serpent walking stick and wand from the Noble Collection. My niece (nearly 5) and nephew (2) like to point the wand at each other and scream "_wingardium leviosa_" (or just "_osa,_" if my nephew is to be believed) so that their auntie will toss them into the air.

I failed to find the rights to Harry Potter while I was in London. (I was hoping that maybe the lovely Ms. Rowling had left them on a bench somewhere.) So, again, Harry Potter: not mine.

Heading back into pretty serious "M" territory here, kiddies. Consider yourselves warned.

Oh yeah, I am also reposting Chapter 1 because I realized that I had confused the O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s. _Faux pas!_

**

* * *

Good Girl Gone Good **

Chapter 2

"Falling"

The wind thrilled across their naked skin. Draco's arms snaked around Hermione's waist, maintaining a death grip on his broomstick. Hermione sat on his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist and crossed behind him, over the back of the broom. She squeezed her legs together rhythmically, forcing Draco deeper and deeper into her body as she clawed at his back for purchase over and over again, leaving deep scratches in his skin.

They kissed frantically, their lips, teeth and tongue nipping, tugging and biting, each as though they could somehow incorporate the other into themselves, merging into one.

"Faster, Draco, faster!" Hermione demanded frenetically. Draco leaned back and pointed the broomstick at the full moon, soaring ever higher, ever faster. He was flying blind, his only chances to see where he was going being when Hermione's lips left his own just long enough to search out his ear or his neck.

Their bodies made a sort of wet sucking sound as her amazing sweat-slicked breasts slammed repeatedly into his defined pecs.

"I love you, Hermione," Draco found himself panting into her mouth. In response, she just moved against him faster, bucking wildly against him. Suddenly, she started to scream. "Oh gods, Draco, I'm coming, baby! Touch me!"

Without thinking, Draco let go of the broom, one hand grabbing hold of a handful of Hermione's lush mane and pulling her head back so that he could attack her throat with his mouth, the other reaching in between them to massage her swollen clit.

They were both on the very edge of release when Draco pulled his head back and realized that they were spiraling out of control toward the glassy surface of the Black Lake. Draco let go of Hermione's hair and tried to pull his other hand away from its very important work, but Hermione wouldn't let him, grabbing his hand with both of hers and pressing it against her warm slickness.

"Hermione, we're out of control!" Draco shouted. "We're going to die!"

"I don't care!" she cried. "Just kiss me and come with me, and we'll go out in a blaze of glory, like Romeo and Juliet!"

Draco cried out in ecstasy as they fell. The Black Lake rushed toward them.

Falling, falling. Faster, faster.

* * *

Draco jerked from his sleep, gasping for breath and clutching for his dream with his mind and his hands. While his mind found nothing to hold onto, his hands found Hermione on top of him, still clad in her dowdy white pajamas, kissing him just as frantically as she had been in his dream, grinding her hips against him. He had been on the verge of climaxing in his dream, and he was just as close in his semi-wakened state. 

He grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and flipped her over onto her back on the bed. He ripped open her pajama top, buttons flying in every direction. He ravished one of her breasts with his mouth as his hands struggled to remove her pajama bottoms. The task proved too frustrating for his shaking hands, and he just yanked them down to her knees.

"I want you, Hermione!" He was losing his mind with desire. "I need you. I love you!" He pulled himself out of his pajama bottoms and positioned himself atop her. "Are you sure?" Just as he was about to plunge into her, he noticed that she wasn't moving. "Hermione? Hermione! HERMIONE!"

She was asleep.

* * *

Draco pulled up his own and Hermione's pajama bottoms, scooped Hermione into his arms, and ran like the wind to the infirmary. Kicking against the door, he screamed for Madame Pomfrey, who finally appeared, wearing a dressing gown, her hair in curlers. 

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" she began sleepily.

"It's back!" he fairly shrieked. "The tumor is back! She tried to have sex with me in her sleep again!" Only then did he realize exactly what he was saying and the potential consequences.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him oddly, then indicated that he should lay Hermione on one of the beds. Draco deposited her peacefully sleeping form and took a step back as Madame Pomfrey moved in to exam Hermione. He suddenly realized that, since he was wearing no shirt, Madame Pomfrey would be able to see the Dark Mark. He also realized that he did not have his wand with him to cast a concealing charm. He covered it with his other hand just as Madame Pomfrey turned to face him.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said kindly, "why don't you go back to your room? I will take care of Ms. Granger."

"No!" Draco refused. "You said she was all better! You said that you had cured her cancer! You said that just yesterday!"

"Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey began again. "You must let me examine Ms. Granger in private. Please be a dear and get some clothes for her," she said, indicating Hermione's open pajama top. "And while you're at it, you might want to . . . cover yourself as well."

Draco looked down and did a double-take in total mortification. He had covered the Dark Mark at the expense of the remains of his raging erection. He turned on his heel and headed back to the Heads' quarters without another word of protest.

Madame Pomfrey sighed, shook her head, and turned her attention to Hermione. "Ms. Granger?" she said quietly, shaking Hermione's shoulder gently. "Hermione?"

"Mmmm. Good morning, Draco. Is it time to get up already?" She opened her eyes drowsily. "What the . . ." She sat bolt upright. "Madame Pomfrey! What are you doing in Draco's room?" She realized at the same moment that she was not in Draco's luxurious bed and that she felt a draft, and looked down to see her top hanging open and her breasts exposed. She scrambled to cover herself, and Madame Pomfrey handed her a hospital gown.

"Mr. Malfoy has gone to get you something else to wear," Madame Pomfrey stated.

"How did I get here?" Hermione asked. "Is something wrong? Oh my God, is the cancer back so soon?" Tears welled up in her chocolate brown eyes.

"I don't think so, dear." Madame Pomfrey patted her shoulder comfortingly. "You scared Mr. Malfoy something terrible. Apparently, you tried to have sex with him while you were both asleep."

Hermione blushed deeply, remembering a very, _very _vivid dream. "I . . . I . . ." she stammered.

"May I ask why you were in his bed again?" Hermione thought she saw a twinkle in the medi-witch's eye.

Hermione looked down. "I couldn't sleep. I . . . guess I missed him," she mumbled.

Madame Pomfrey bustled around for a few minutes, running various tests, smiling mischievously.

"Well, Ms. Granger," she said at length, "you'll be glad to know that you are NOT having a recurrence of the cancer."

Hermione nearly cried with relief. "Then what happened?"

"Well, my dear, I'd say that your symptoms have a very simple explanation: you're in love."

"What!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's impossible! Draco and I don't even like each other that much."

Madame Pomfrey smiled and shook her head. "Surely you of all people, Ms. Granger, are smart enough to know that the two do not always go hand in hand. And Mr. Malfoy obviously has mutual feelings for you."

Hermione's head snapped up in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one thing, when he brought you up here during your seizure, you arrived without a scratch on you other than the bloody nose. It is almost impossible to carry someone who is having a _grand mal_ seizure without dropping them, but Mr. Malfoy managed it despite the fact that you cracked two of his ribs in the process."

Hermione gasped and brought her hand to her lips. She had had no idea.

Madame Pomfrey pressed on. "And I had to chase him away from the infirmary several times a day. When I told him he could not come in to see you, he set up camp in the hallway just outside the door. The only way I was able to convince him to even attend classes was by telling him that, when you recovered, you would be much better able to catch up on your class work if you were able to look at his notes, as opposed to Mr. Potter's or Mr. Weasley's. I thought that was very clever of me, if I do say so myself. And might I add that you two make a very attractive couple."

Hermione nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. You've given me a lot to think about."

Just then, the doors burst open and Draco skidded into the room in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a change of clothes for Hermione. "Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked desperately. "Is she all right, Madame Pomfrey?" He grabbed Hermione's hand in both of his and looked down at the older woman.

"She is fine, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey averred. "Might I suggest that, if you two do not intend to have sex, you sleep in your own rooms and lock the doors?" Hermione and Draco blushed like a pair of Weasleys. "And if you do have sex, remember to use the contraceptive charm I taught you." The two teenagers turned an even brighter shade of crimson. Madame Pomfrey wagged an index finger at them seriously. "Ms. Granger's body has been through a great deal recently, and this would not be a good time for her to conceive a child." The pair nodded, chastened, and walked hand-in-hand back to their quarters after Hermione had gotten dressed in the short skirt, cropped top, black lace push-up bra, and thong that Draco had so pragmatically brought for her.


	3. Ch 3, Sense Memories and New Memories

**Good Girl Gone Good**

By TraceyI

Sorry it's been so long since I updated. Would you believe me if I told you I went on another vacation? Since I missed the East Coast leg of the Queen + Paul Rodgers tour, I had to fly out to Las Vegas to play catch up. One of the greatest long weekends in the history of the sport. ATVing in the desert, a brilliant new Cirque du Soleil show, Rock legends at the MGM Grand. Not quite the same as with the late, great Freddie Mercury at the helm in the early 80s, but still a perfectly acceptable example of the genre.

Also, I had a wicked case of writer's block.

I can't seem to stop myself from writing the Mature stuff. (Author blushes Weasley-red.) Rated M for Mature. Is that stopping anyone? I suppose that's a rhetorical question.

The rights to Harry Potter were not hiding in the Nevada desert, either, so I still don't own them.

**

* * *

Good Girl Gone Good **

Chapter 3

"Sense Memories, New Memories"

Draco slammed a book closed. "I need a drink," he announced, pushing back from the table in the Heads' common room and heading for his hidden private stock. He poured himself a stiff drink. "Would you like one?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione glanced up from her work. "I don't drink."

Draco snorted.

"That was attractive. Is there something you want to say, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, sitting back and folding her arms across her chest.

"Who me? Not at all."

Hermione lowered her head and looked up disapprovingly at him through narrowed eyes.

"I was just remembering a rather . . . _intense_ . . . game of Spin the Bottle," Draco continued in his patented infuriating way. "I seem to recall the bottle having almost as good a time as you and I did."

Hermione covered her reddening face with her hands. "That wasn't me," she whispered.

Draco walked back to the study table, drink in hand. They had been at it for hours. He had been struggling to keep up with his work while getting Hermione caught up with hers for three days now, his study time broken only by his hateful detentions with Snape, Potter and Weasley and the occasional 5-minute flight together out the Heads' common room window. He swirled his glass, letting the pleasant _clink_ of the ice cubes fill the room as they melted just the right amount. One of the few useful things his father had taught him was how to charm ice cubes so that they melted quickly at first to release the proper quantity of water into the fire whiskey, and then melted very, very slowly, to keep the drink cold but not water it down.

"This fire whiskey," he said, indicating the glass he held tantalizingly in front of Hermione's eyes, "has been maturing in an oak cask, in a dungeon, on a magically hidden island in the English Channel, for 50 years. It is the finest example of fire whiskey known to the wizarding world." He took a sip, closing his eyes to fully experience the sensation, and sighed with pleasure. "And it is truly delightful. I can feel it all the way to the tips of my toes."

He reached into the glass with two fingers and withdrew an ice cube. "Are you _sure_ you don't want any?" he asked teasingly, dangling the ice cube in front of Hermione's face. Hermione shook her head, but without any real conviction, and finally closed her eyes. Draco gently rubbed the edge of the ice cube over Hermione's luscious lips. She tilted her head back slightly and let her tongue slide out between her teeth just in time to catch the falling drop of iced fire whiskey. And her whole body shook with a violent tremor.

"Hermione? Hermione! HERMIONE!

_Draco held the ice cube between two fingers and sensuously rubbed it over Hermione's lips, which instinctively reached out to gently suck the cold fire whiskey from it. Then he teased her with the ice on her throat and down the valley between her bare breasts until it touched the silver of her belly button ring, sending a chill deep into her body. His naked form moved back along the bed so that he was hovering over her entire body, and he watched in fascination as the barest brush of the ice cube brought an instantaneous pebbling to her pert nipple. Giddy with anticipation, he repeated the experiment on the other breast. He switched back and forth for several excruciatingly long minutes, each time waiting just long enough for her nipple to return to its resting state before rubbing the ice against her again._

_When the ice cube had melted completely, Draco licked all vestiges of it off Hermione's breasts, his eyes captivated by her reactions. She had already come twice, just from his ministrations on her hyper-sensitive breasts. He was so turned on by her body's amazing responses that he had to do more for her; his own enormous . . . need . . . would have to wait._

_Draco reached for the glass again, took a healthy swig, and caught another charmed ice cube in his mouth. Holding it between his teeth, he slowly dragged it down her stomach. _

_Using his hands, and with a certain amount of eager – and quite limber – assistance from Hermione, Draco parted her legs. He sucked the ice cube into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue, and then he completely engulfed her clit with one swift movement. Hermione arched off the bed as one possessed, screaming in ecstasy as she climaxed again instantly. _

_Draco continued his assault relentlessly, alternating between using the broad surface of his tongue in slow, maddening strokes, swirled across the ice cube and then allowed to warm gradually; the tip of his tongue in quick staccato movements; and finally the bare ice cube held between his teeth. Wave upon wave of orgasmic passion crashed on Hermione's shores, and by the time the charmed ice cube had melted completely, she was constantly thrashing and crying out to the gods._

Draco shook Hermione roughly by the shoulders. "Hermione! Are you OK? Say something!"

Hermione opened her eyes, a dazed expression on her face. "I'm OK," she whispered.

Draco crushed Hermione to him, choking back sobs. "Thank Merlin!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were having another seizure." Hermione, bemused at Draco's emotional reaction, allowed him to rock her back and forth in his arms for a few seconds.

"No, I was having something else," she said softly.

Draco pulled away and held Hermione at arms' length, concern etched on his handsome features. "What?" He looked at her lovely face and realized to his great surprise that she was blushing. "What were you having?"

"An . . . rgsm," she mumbled.

"Come again?"

Hermione chuckled ruefully at the irony and cleared her throat. "I was having an orgasm, Draco."

Draco's hands slid down Hermione's arms in shock. "You . . . came . . . when you drank one drop of fire whiskey?" he asked incredulously.

"More or less," Hermione admitted, trying to shrug off the unbelievably awkward situation.

Draco had a million questions to ask, but the one that made its way out of his mouth first was, "Should we tell Madame Pomfrey?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands and shook her head. "Ahem," she rehearsed in her most detached and clinical voice, squaring her shoulders and tossing back her mane of hair. "'Madame Pomfrey, I have an orgasm every time Draco Malfoy touches me. Is that bad?' Merlin, Draco, I can't even say 'orgasm' without turning Gryffindor Red, do you really think I'm going to raise this issue with Madame Pomfrey?" She had almost said "Weasley Red," but had decided against bringing Ronald into this particular conversation.

Draco raised his eyebrows in thought and tipped his head from side to side a few times, weighing the question. He stopped suddenly. "Wait a minute. Did you say you come every time I touch you?"

"Damn," thought Hermione, "I thought I was going to get that one by him." She nodded in mortified affirmation. "Yes," she admitted. "But not usually like that," she hastened to add.

"Then like what?"

"Little quivering ones," Hermione mumbled.

"And I didn't notice?" Draco asked in disbelief. He considered himself to be fairly observant, as men went.

"Apparently not," Hermione stated with a small smile, finally seeing some semblance of humor in the situation.

"When?"

"Let's see . . . on the back of your broom, while you were tickling me, every time you turn over in your sleep and pull me close to you, every time you brush against me in class . . ."

"In class! In _Snape's_ class!"

"Oh yes, probably five or six times in Snape's class." Hermione was actually starting to enjoy this.

"How on earth . . . "

"Just how allergic do you think I am, Draco?"

"Those weren't sneezes?"

"No."

"You're good, you know that?" Hermione beamed. "Come to think of it," Draco added, "_I_ must be _really _good."

Hermione's smile faded. "It's not good, Draco," she said sadly.

"What do you mean? How can it be bad?"

"They're like acid flashbacks."

"What the hell is . . ."

"Back in the 1960s, people would take this hallucinogenic drug called D-Lysergic acid diethylamide. Later they would sometimes re-experience the hallucinations, even when they weren't taking the drug any more. And, from what I've read, some of their hallucinations were truly terrifying. It's like that now. I get these flashes that are more like sense memories than regular memories. It's like I'm plunged into the depths of all those things we did, all at once, and I'm drowning."

Draco looked truly offended. "You didn't seem to mind the first time around," he pointed out, quite accurately.

"But it's like experiencing someone else's incredibly strong feelings." Hermione knew that she would never be able to explain this to him. "Imagine a pleasant smell, like roses. Now imagine being in a tiny, hot, airless room with 100 roses. It's just too much; it's overwhelming. Or like the taste of something that's much too salty or too sweet. It's fine in the right doses, but . . . well, it's like I'm overdosing. One minute I'm fine and I'm me, do de doo de doo, just walking down the street and whistling, and the next instant I'm thrown into the middle of a violent orgasmic spasm with no buildup. How would you like it if it was always climax but no foreplay? On second thought, don't answer that. You're a man."

"Hey!" Draco retorted in outrage. "I like foreplay!"

Hermione smiled. "You're right. I'm sorry. Remember, I don't have anyone with whom to compare you."

Draco sat down at the study table and pulled Hermione sideways into his lap. "So," he began, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist and kissing her gently. Hermione trembled again. "Was that . . .?" Hermione nodded in embarrassment. Draco struggled to get his train of thought back on the main track; Hermione's trembling had been against a very delicate spot. "What can I do to stop this horrible 'sense memory' problem?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"What if I try to replace them with the kinds of memories you do want to have?"

Hermione pondered the notion for a moment. "That might work," she admitted.

"OK, so what kind of new memories do you want to make?" Draco began to nuzzle the side of her neck.

Hermione tried to pull away, but his strong arms around her waist kept her in place. "I don't want the violent, passionate sex we used to have," Hermione said. "Can you understand that? I want someone to make love to me." She looked down at the ground. "Are you sure you're the right man for the job? I mean, I have found out many things about you in the last month that I didn't know, and you're an amazing lover for the partner who wants to be banged senseless, but that's not me." She waited for Draco to release her, assuming that she had hurt his feelings. To her surprise, he put a finger under her chin and turned her face to his.

"Hermione, I am not going to say that I didn't enjoy all the truly amazing things that we did during those two weeks. I am, after all, an average seventeen-year-old male. Well," he added with a smirk, "maybe not _average_. Clearly well above-average, in all respects. But I like to think of myself as a solicitous lover, thinking of my partner's needs and wants instead of, well OK, in addition to, my own. And I like to think that everything I gave you was exactly what you wanted at the time. It may not be what you want now, but you seemed pretty satisfied then. And if you want something different now, I can give you that, too.

"I will admit that I don't always like you. Hell, I don't even usually like you." Hermione jolted in shock, but Draco continued. "We're very different people, Hermione. Our backgrounds and circumstances are at the very opposite ends of the spectrum from each other. As I've said a million times, I am not a nice bloke. There are probably one or two things about me that you don't like either . . . ." Hermione held up her hands as if she were going to count on her fingers, but gave up, realizing that the list was far too long. Draco saw his opportunity and soldiered on. "But there is one thing I realized when I was sitting in the Potions classroom and heard Weasley say that Potter had hit you."

"He didn't."

Draco looked at her in confusion, interrupted as he was in mid-declaration. "Excuse me?"

"Harry didn't hit me. He shoved me, my leg was asleep and I fell into the wall. Plus, according to Madame Pomfrey, nosebleeds are a frequent side effect of brain tumors."

"Bloody hell," Draco thought. "I almost broke his nose." "Well, then he shouldn't have shoved you," he said aloud. "As I was saying," he stated firmly in a voice that let Hermione know she should not interrupt him again, "what I realized when I heard that you'd been hurt, and when I saw you having that seizure, when bloody Madame Pomfrey wouldn't let me in to see you for days and days and days, and most of all when I held you in my arms under the full moon, is that . . ." He took a very deep breath to steady himself. "I love you, Hermione Jane Granger."

Stunned almost beyond comprehension, Hermione stared into Draco's grey eyes. What she saw there surprised her even more – complete honesty. For once, Hermione Granger, loquacious know-it-all, was at a loss for words. So she did the only thing her mind could come up with: she let her eyelids flutter shut and leaned her face toward his. Draco, with admirable restraint, kissed her gently with his mouth closed. It was the kind of kiss that he had never experienced in his life. Since the invention of the kiss there have been six kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco's neck. After several minutes, Draco slowly opened his mouth and gently ran the very tip of his tongue over Hermione's lower lip. In response, Hermione opened her mouth slightly and allowed him entry. The kiss was so beautiful, so different, that Hermione felt a single tear slide down her cheek. Draco caught it with his thumb, sensing everything about her even with his eyes closed. Then his hand rejoined its partner at her waist, chastely making her feel safe without wandering.

Time meant nothing to them. Hermione felt as though she could stay like this with him forever. Finally, after nearly half an hour of this gentle _pas de deux_, Draco slowly moved one hand behind Hermione's back and the other behind her knees and stood, lifting her, not for a moment breaking their sweet kiss. As he headed for the door to her room, as if guided by sonar or second sight, she pulled away from him slightly. "Draco?"

"Mmmm?" he murmured, reaching to kiss her again.

"What date are we up to?"

Draco froze in his tracks. "Are you fu . . . bloody kidding me?"

"Well, yes and no. We did set a rule of no sex until the fourth date, didn't we? So that we would be forced to get to know each other better?"

"What could you possibly want to know about me other than what I just told you?"

"I don't know. Isn't there something you want to know about me?"

Draco thought for a moment. He wished he could stroke his chin, but his hands were otherwise engaged. "OK. Do you really think I'm the best-looking boy in the school?"

"No."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Draco, I think you're the best-looking example of the male of the species that I have ever seen."

Draco smiled smugly. "And do you really find my father attractive?"

Hermione reddened. "I respectfully refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it may incriminate me."

Draco chuckled as Hermione buried her face in his chest. He wished he were wearing no shirt so that he could have the sensation of her soft mane of hair against his bare skin.

"Speaking of your father," Hermione continued, looking him in the eye again. "Does he know about us?"

"Well, that really needs to be a two-part inquiry, don't you think?" Draco responded. "First, have _I_ told my father about us? No. How exactly do you think that would go?" He tenderly lowered Hermione's legs to the ground and picked up an imaginary quill and parchment before beginning to mime writing. "Ahem. 'Dearest Father. How is Azkaban? Are the Dementors treating you well? Not much new to report here. Hogwarts is the same as ever. Oh, and I'm fucking the Mudblood. Kisses, Draco. P.S. Please send money.'" He looked up at Hermione, concerned that he had crossed a line, only to find her stifling giggles.

"So the real question," he continued, "becomes whether _someone else_ has told my father about us. I don't see either Crabbe or Goyle going against me in that fashion; they're too afraid of what I would do to them in retaliation. But Pansy, she's another story. I never even really broke up with her; I just haven't given her so much as the time of day since this term began, and she is royally pissed. The long and short of it is, it's a fair bet that my father knows about us."

Hermione drew in a deep breath.

"And I don't really give a damn who knows," Draco stated with a strong degree of finality, kissing her forehead. "So let's see." He counted on his long, sensuous fingers. "One, Hagrid's pumpkin patch." He smiled as Hermione blushed. "Two, flying by the lake. Three, how about when you brought me a sandwich right before detention last night, since I hadn't had a chance to eat? Does that count?"

Hermione nodded, trying to contain her eagerness.

"And four . . . " Draco struggled. This was the home stretch! "Wait! I've got it! We flew a lap around the castle tonight after my detention to wake ourselves up before studying! A-ha! We even left the castle! That's four!" He bent down in triumph and picked her up again.

Hermione kissed Draco gently and leaned around to whisper in his ear. "But we haven't eaten anything. It's a two-pronged test."

"**DOBBY!"**

Hermione's ears rang from Draco's ejaculation as, with a loud pop, the house elf appeared in the room. He bowed low, his ridiculous collection of by now weathered hats and scarves sweeping the floor. "Yes, Young Master Malfoy, Dobby is here." He straightened and noticed Hermione's elevated position. "Is Mistress Hermione injured?" he asked, concern for his benefactress momentarily eclipsing his fear of his former master's son. "Have you hurt Mistress Hermione?" Trembling with fear, he ridiculously waggled his miniscule fists.

Draco hurriedly put Hermione, who was fighting a giggling fit, on the ground. "No, Dobby," Draco answered as patiently as he could muster. "_Hermione_ is fine. And, as I have told you before, you may refer to me simply as 'Draco.'" Hermione looked at him with surprised satisfaction. "Only for you, baby," he murmured, for her ears alone.

Dobby bowed nervously, so low that his enormous ears nearly touched the ground. "But Young Master Malfoy . . ."

"Draco!" he interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Dobby bowed yet again. "But your father . . . "

"Is not here," Draco noted firmly. "And I am not he. So would you . . . _please_ . . . be a good little house elf and bring Hermione and me a light snack?" He nearly choked on the word "please." Although he was trying to learn to be nice to the house elves to avoid Hermione's disapprobation, saying "please" to a house elf was something that had been genetically bred out of his pure bloodline.

Dobby bowed one last time, smacking his cranium on the floor before disappearing with another crack, only to reappear moments later. Or at least Draco and Hermione assumed it was he. All they could see was an enormous tray, loaded six inches deep to the edges with an incredible array of comestibles – roast beef, ham, oysters, rolls, scones, petit fours, strawberries, and two precariously perched glasses of ice cold pumpkin juice – and a wizened pair of hands on the tray's handles, struggling to keep it aloft.

Draco clapped his hand to his head and took the tray from the house elf. "Thank you, Dobby," he said through clenched teeth. "Not exactly a 'light' snack, but I thank you for your efforts. Have a nice evening, Dobby," he added dismissively.

"Does Young Master Malfoy require anything else of Dobby? Dobby is happy to do anything the Young Master wishes. Do you want Dobby to step on his own foot? Young Master Malfoy liked that when he was a young boy." To Draco's horror, Dobby started stamping on his left foot with his right one. Draco rushed over and picked the house elf up off the ground, leaving him in mid-air to try to stamp his own feet.

"No, Dobby," Draco nearly begged. "That will be quite sufficient, thank you. You may go." He placed the tiny form back on the floor and held his breath. To his immense relief, Dobby bowed once again and said, "Good night, Young Master Malfoy." He then turned to Hermione. "And you, Mistress Hermione? What else can Dobby do for you? Are you sure you do not want me to take you to see Madame Pomfrey? Your face is very flushed." He reached up as if to feel her forehead, but he was not nearly tall enough, and his hand landed on Hermione's left breast.

Draco nearly lost it at that point, snatching Dobby's hand away, pivoting the house elf on his heel, and pushing him with all his might toward the door. Despite his diminutive size, like all house elves, Dobby was deceptively strong. "Good night, Dobby!" he demanded. With a pop, Dobby finally disappeared, and Draco, suddenly pushing against nothing with all his weight, stumbled and nearly fell. By this time, Hermione was bent over double with laughter.

Draco struggled to his feet and, in a vain attempt at regaining his dignity, straightened his robes, tie and hair. "Now, where were we?" He pulled out a seat in front of the vast array of food for Hermione. "Your 'light snack,' my dear," he indicated with a flourish. "What are your desires?"

"You choose," Hermione responded.

"Very wise of you, my dear," Draco countered in an excellent impersonation of his father. He suddenly realized what he was doing and stopped immediately. He sat next to Hermione and pulled an oyster from the tray. He held it in front of her mouth and gently tipped it up to her lips, the bivalve and its liquor sliding sensuously across her tongue and down her throat. Hermione tried to suppress the tremor that thrilled through her body, but Draco was watching for it. "Again? Sweet Merlin, Hermione, stop that!"

Hermione was crimson as Draco fed her two more oysters; a petit four; and an enormous ripe strawberry that fairly burst with juiciness. He leaned in and kissed the small trickle of red juice off her chin, licking his way up to her lips gently. His arms snaked around her waist, and he pulled her towards him, deepening their kiss. After what he considered a period of super-human patience, he whispered two words: "Your room?"

Hermione nodded after a brief pause. This was the one room in which they had never been together. They had always somehow ended up in his bed when their fits of passion had demanded a soft sleeping surface. Hermione knew now that she had somehow, subconsciously been protecting her own territory.

Draco helped Hermione to her feet, took her by the hand, and led her to her bedroom. Once inside, he tenderly wrapped her in his arms and began to kiss her again, their bodies swaying from side to side as if to the tune of some silent love song. With excruciating slowness, he helped her out of her robes and her uniform, as Hermione did the same for him. Hermione stood nervously before Draco, believing firmly but rather incongruously that _she_ had never stood naked before a man, no matter what her tumor had done. He held her at arms' length and really looked at her. "You're beautiful, Hermione Granger. Don't ever forget that."

With that, Draco took Hermione's hand and led her to her bed, chivalrously pulling back the covers for her as she slipped into bed. He lay down next to her so that they were both lying on their sides, facing each other. His hand reached out and ran over her arm and side before moving across her hip to the small of her back to draw her body flush against his. He kissed her again, trying valiantly to find the right balance between being the gentle man he knew she wanted and conveying the depths of his passion for her. Limiting his kisses to her mouth, which was a completely new experience for him, he smoothly rolled them over so that she was lying beneath him. Without breaking their kiss, he retrieved his wand, which he had wisely left on the bedside table, and tapped her stomach, muttering a contraceptive charm. After more of this delectable tenderness, he finally felt her legs part slightly beneath him. He drew back his head a fraction. "Are you sure, baby?"

Hermione gazed into his eyes and nodded. Taking her lips with his own yet again, he eased himself home. "I love you, Hermione," he sighed as, for the first time in his life, he understood what those words meant. Hermione closed her eyes and let a small moan escape from her lips. Taking her hands in his to keep himself from running his hands all over her body, Draco let his lips – and his hips – do all the work. Slowly, maddeningly slowly, he started to move. For Hermione, the sensation felt new and wondrous. She knew that her mind was making new memories that would block out all the violent and overpowering physical ones from this day forward.

It seemed to the young lovers that this went on forever. They may have been correct. Finally, Hermione felt a strange sensation trill through her body, starting with her toes. Her feet flexed as Draco pulsed against the perfect spot deep inside her. Shards of multicolored light danced in her vision as she began to tremble. As passion found her, instead of screaming out to the walls, she whispered, "I love you too, Draco."

Draco felt a single tear slide down his own cheek. He kissed her with deep affection and finally allowed himself to increase his speed and friction for a few long strokes. But in the split second before he was to find his own sweet release, he felt a stabbing pain in his forearm. With a scream of agony and frustration, he found himself lying on his back on the other side of the bed, watching his Dark Mark come to life, the skull's serpent tongue slithering into a knot upon itself. He looked at Hermione with an odd mixture of terror and profound sadness.

"I have to go," he said quietly, kissing Hermione on the forehead. "He knows."

* * *

I think that may be it, folks. I don't have any idea what else I could do with this one. I am simply not up to embarking on a 42-chapter _magnum opus_ with Hermione convincing Dumbledore's Army to take on Lord Voldemort and save Draco, yadda yadda yadda. So I may just stop here while I'm ahead. I am ahead, aren't I? Should I add "And that was the last time she ever saw him," just for the sake of completion? Should I leave it open-ended just in case my muse smacks me upside the head again one of these days? I am open to all suggestions (except "you should write a 42-chapter _magnum opus_ . . ."). 

By the way, for those of you who have so kindly inquired, Laura's tumor has shrunk dramatically, but the chemo and radiation have beaten the hell out of her. So good news for the long term but bad news in the short term. But I have full faith that she's going to bitch-slap that sonofabitch into the next millennium.


	4. Alt Ending 1, I Will Die for You

**Good Girl Gone Good**

By TraceyI

I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that I was the only person sitting in a roomful of arts professionals this week, listening to the Secretary of State speak, and writing Hr/D fanfiction. I may be wrong.

Since I don't know quite how to end this story, I'm going to take a couple of stabs at it. Please let me know what you think.

The Secretary of State agrees – I do not own Harry Potter.

This chapter's actually quite clean, as such things go, so I will rate it T for Teen. And Tissue.

**

* * *

Good Girl Gone Good **

**Alternate Ending #1**

"I Will Die for You"

Hermione sat at her kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea clutched in her right hand. She closed her eyes and breathed in the steam. As always, her thoughts drifted back to that night – the last time they had been together. The intervening seven years had done nothing to diminish her memories of that night – his slightly spicy scent, the way his silver-blond hair had hung in his grey steel eyes, the way he had looked at her with such sadness and such affection, the tenderness with which he had kissed her goodbye, and most especially the feelings of despair and abandonment that had torn her apart. After all these years, her stomach still lurched at his loss, and she felt the familiar sting of tears burning behind her eyelids.

"_I have to go," Draco said quietly, kissing Hermione on the forehead. "He knows."_

_A chill went through Hermione's body. The sheen of sweat that covered her body turned to ice water, and gooseflesh dimpled her naked skin. She grabbed his wrists as he started to pull away from her. For just a moment, he looked into her eyes, trying to impart to her with one gaze everything he was feeling: hunger, passion, love, tenderness, sorrow, fear, and, although he tried to deemphasize it, the frustration of a seventeen-year-old boy who was suffering through history's worst case of _coitus interruptus.

"_No, Draco," Hermione begged. "You don't have to go. Stay with me." She tried to pull his body back on top of hers._

"_I'm sorry, baby. I can't," he demurred, rising to his knees on the bed. Hermione tightened her grip on his wrists and used him as a fulcrum to pull herself to a kneeling position before him. _

"_That's not who you are anymore." Hermione looked up at Draco's face, her chocolate eyes pleading with him._

"_You're wrong, Hermione," he responded, swiveling his hands around quickly and engulfing her tiny hands with his long, graceful fingers. "It's exactly who I am. You have known since Day One that I am a Death Eater. I have very few positive personality traits to my name, but I am fiercely loyal. Whether you like it or not, that means loyal to both you and to the Dark Lord."_

_Hermione started. It had not occurred to her that Draco could both love her and serve Voldemort; to her, the two concepts were clearly mutually exclusive._

_Seeing her confusion, Draco soldiered on. "I love you," he reassured her honestly. "I love you with all my heart. I would defend you to the death. Not that I haven't been looking for excuses to beat the living hell out of Potter for the last seven years, but I really thought I had broken his nose when I thought that he had hurt you. If you hadn't distracted me by having that well-timed seizure, I'm not sure he would be alive right now. And I am fully capable of using an Unforgivable Curse."_

_Hermione gasped and raised her hand to her mouth, but she did not interrupt him._

"_You have to understand, baby, I have been preparing all my life to serve the Dark Lord. It is who I am. It is who my father is. He sits proudly in Azkaban, persecuted for his beliefs and presumed guilty by association."_

_Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. Draco believed that Lucius Malfoy was being _persecuted.

"_The war is upon us, Hermione. And I intend to be on the winning side. It will not be long before I stand proudly beside my father at the right hand of the ruler of the entire Wizarding world."_

_Hermione could take it no longer, and she broke in as she broke down. "I can't believe you are saying this, Draco," she sobbed. "You can't possibly love me if you would be willing to stand against me on the side of darkness. I thought I knew you." Her voice rose to a wail._

_Draco tried to put his arms around Hermione protectively, but she struggled against him. "You don't believe that, Hermione," he said soothingly. "You know in your heart that I love you. Maybe we love each other so much because of our differences, not in spite of them. I don't hold it against you that you're fighting on the other side. It's who you are, and I would not want to change a single thing about you. I am who I am. I am not going to turn into a good guy, and we are not going to ride off into the sunset with you on the back of my motorsider."_

"_Motorcycle," Hermione interrupted tearfully._

"_Whatever." Draco climbed off the bed and started to dress quickly. Hermione pulled her blanket around herself and sat next to Draco on the bed as he tied his shoes. He turned to look at her, grasping her fingers and pulling them to his lips in a tender gesture of farewell. She snatched them away from him._

"_Draco," she said softly, angrily annunciating every syllable, unable to look at him. "You said he knows about us. What if he says you need to leave me, or betray me, or," she swallowed, "even kill me?"_

_Draco rose to his full height and accio'd his traveling cloak, which floated in through the bathroom adjoining both their rooms like a Dementor. "Then this is the night I will die for you, Hermione."_

Hermione opened her eyes, tears spilling down her face, which looked much more than seven years older than it had on that fateful night. Lines marred her beautiful face, and heavy bags sagged beneath her eyes. Her skin had taken on a yellow tinge. Her wild hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in days, and it was shot through with streaks of grey. She took another large gulp of her tea, ignoring the fact that it had gone cold during her reverie. It was only a delivery system for the gin, anyway. Sometimes she didn't even bother with the charade and drank straight from the bottle.

She had never said goodbye to him. She had let him walk off into the night alone, refusing to look up as he turned at the door for one last smile, one last reassurance of her love. As the night wore on, she had gotten angrier and angrier, feeling that he had somehow betrayed her, that he was cheating on her with the Dark Lord. At some point, she had fallen asleep on the Common Room sofa. She had dreamed that Draco had walked through the portrait hole arrogantly, and that she had slapped him across the face. She had awakened with a start to find that the first rosy-fingered rays of the sun were filtering through the windows, and the first pangs of concern had swept through her. She had dressed quickly and run through the halls, through the heavy wooden doors of the castle, down the path to the gates.

And there she had found him. His beautiful body broken, dumped unceremoniously on the ground. She had ripped open his cloak and his shirt to check for a pulse, knowing to a dreadful certainty that she would find none. His flawless skin bore horrific bruises and deep cuts, too numerous to count, with broken bones peeking through some of them. "_Sectumsempra_, _Cruciatus_," she had thought with a strange detachment.

She had pulled his cloak around his body and, slowly, across his face, kissing his forehead gently just before the black fabric swallowed his white skin. She unpinned the silver double-headed snake brooch that fastened his cloak, pricking her thumb with it and leaving one last blood trail across his once-beautiful face, her blood mingling with the dried rivers of his own as she smoothed the rough cloth. Then she had risen and slowly backed away. At some point, she had turned and started running. Faster and faster, until she had thought that her lungs would explode from her chest, mixing with the sobs that finally tore from her.

Running as fast as she could, as far as she could. She had run all the way to Hogsmeade and, without thinking, boarded the next train. It hadn't mattered where it was going. She had just needed to get away.

Hermione smiled ruefully, painfully. She had not realized at the time that it would be the last time she would set eyes on Hogwarts, that she would never see any member of her family again, that Harry and Ron would never know what had happened to her. She had turned her back on the Wizarding world for all time. The Brightest Witch of Her Age had whispered one last spell on the train and watched her beloved wand wither to ashes. She didn't even know if the war was over and, if so, how it had ended.

For seven years now, she had been eking out a living as a waitress in a muggle pub. They short-changed her on the tips, and she drank much, much more than her allotted share of gin. She thought it was a fair trade.

She also knew that it would not be much longer. She breathed in what she knew to be the heady, bergamot- and gin-tinged aroma of her tea, but she couldn't smell it. She hadn't been able to smell for nearly two months now. The nosebleeds and seizures were coming more and more frequently, and she had next to no feeling remaining in her left side.

She looked down at the table. A cockroach scurried across the silver brooch, the only token she had of his. Her fingers were no longer able to fasten it.

She knew that it would not be much longer.


	5. Alt Ending 2, Bonafede

**Good Girl Gone Good**

By TraceyI

Boy, you people are hard to please! First I say, at the end of Chapter 3, "This is going to end badly. I don't think I want to write it." Then people beg me to continue. So I do. And, to nobody's surprise, it ends badly for all concerned. And people come out of the woodwork to yell at me because it ended badly! Didn't anybody else's Freshman English teacher tell them that a love that burns so brightly at the beginning of the story has to flame out spectacularly at the end? That there is only one way for "Romeo and Juliet" to end, and that is with bodies stacked up like cordwood? Sheesh. OK, I'll try again.

Despite valiant and Slytherin-worthy attempts, I still do not own Harry Potter.

Please read and review! I'm taking votes.

Rated M for Mature. Oh, why the hell not?

**

* * *

Good Girl Gone Good **

**Alternate Ending #2**

"Bonafede"

She dozed lightly on the sofa. The chiming of the clock woke her, and she startled awake, worry gripping her. Trying to suppress her mounting panic, she went to the window as casually as she could muster. Nothing.

Then she heard it, and a smile curled the corners of her mouth. The high-pitched whine of a powerful internal combustion engine. She ran to the front door and flung it open, stepping out onto the front porch. She struggled to wipe the grin off her face and replace it with a look of motherly disapproval as the green 1985 Kawasaki ZX900 Ninja cycle roared into the driveway, shooting a small spray of stones out to the side. "Donor cycle," she thought, a frown creasing her tanned face. That's what her friend Sandy, a nurse at the nearest hospital, had called it, shaking her head in disbelief, when he had bought it.

"_Do you know why they call them 'donor cycles'?" Sandy had asked._

_She shook her head. "Because they're always driven very fast by healthy men between the ages of 18 and 25, who die instantly from massive head wounds when they, inevitably, crash their bikes head-on into a car, a truck, or a wall. Their bodies are perfect for organ donation. Hence, 'donor cycles.'" Sandy had rolled her eyes. "Honestly, who would design a motorcycle that you ride with your head down and your ass way up in the air like that?"_

The memory caused her frown to deepen, then she relaxed. What could possibly be bad about a vehicle that so gloriously emphasized that deliciously formed ass? The ass in question, like the rest of the body to which it was attached, was clad in form-fitting and wind-resisting black leather. Even after four years together, the sight of his body made her breath hitch in her throat. "He is so beautiful," she thought as he unbuckled the chin strap and pulled off his helmet. Long brown hair spilled out, and he shook it down his back, grinning up at her. She was fairly certain that he practiced that hair flip in front of the mirror when she wasn't looking. The rubber band that held his pony tail in place had come out, as it always did. "Hello, Mrs. Bonafede," he called to her with a wave.

"You're late, Mr. Bonafede," she chastised him. "Dinner's probably completely ruined."

He responded with a horribly affected pout, the one that always melted her right down to the tips of her toes. He leaned down into the motorcycle's sidecar and unfastened the host of buckles and belts that held the toddler seat, complete with wriggling toddler, in place. He gently removed her helmet, and the child's white-blond hair stood out in every direction like a school static electricity experiment. He swung the tiny towhead into his arms and up onto his shoulders, where she tangled her fingers in his long, dark hair.

He walked up the driveway to her, their daughter reaching out to her mother as they approached. She pulled the child off her father's shoulders and into her arms, swinging her around in circles, her tiny feet flying out from the effect of centrifugal force. The child squealed with laughter.

"Where did you and Daddy go, Alex?"

"I keem!" the child exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Jake!" She turned her attention to her husband in exasperation. "Are you trying to ruin her dinner?"

He looked abashed. "Sorry, Helena," he apologized, his grey eyes glittering. "We went for a long ride, and there was a lot of dust, and she said she wanted ice cream, and what self-respecting man of Italian descent would ever deny his child gelato? Besides, you said dinner was ruined anyway. You wouldn't want your baby girl to go hungry, would you?" He slipped his hand around his wife's waist and kissed his daughter's tousled blond hair. "You're just mad because I didn't bring you any."

Helena hitched Alex up on her hip with one hand and threw the other into the air in frustration, pushing Jake's hand away in the process. "Honestly, Jake! You'd think you were the two-year-old!" She tossed her shiny, straight white-blond locks, which ended just below her ears.

Jake grabbed her wrist and pulled her fingers to his mouth. He reached for his daughter with the other hand, about to bundle her back into her sidecar. "Would you like to go for a ride, Helena? The sun will be setting soon." He leaned down and nuzzled his wife's neck. "I'll get you an ice cream," he whispered sensually.

* * *

"_I have to go," Draco said quietly, kissing Hermione on the forehead. "He knows."_

_A chill went through Hermione's body. The sheen of sweat that covered her body turned to ice water, and gooseflesh dimpled her naked skin. She grabbed his wrists as he started to pull away from her. For just a moment, he looked into her eyes, trying to impart to her with one gaze everything he was feeling: hunger, passion, love, tenderness, sorrow, fear, and, although he tried to deemphasize it, the frustration of a seventeen-year-old boy who was suffering through history's worst case of _coitus interruptus.

"_No, Draco," Hermione begged. "You don't have to go. Stay with me." She tried to pull his body back on top of hers._

"_What do you want me to do, baby?" he asked, pointing to the serpent slithering on his forearm. "He is calling me. Do you have any idea what happens if I don't respond?"_

"_No." The worry showed clearly in her eyes. "What will happen?"_

_Draco paused for a moment. "I have no idea. But I'm going to assume it won't be pleasant."_

"_Do you _want_ to go?"_

_Surprised, he pondered this for a moment. "No," he answered truthfully. "I want to stay right here and make love to you until dawn. There is nothing I would rather do." He kissed her passionately, and she replied in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him down to her. He pulled away reluctantly, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of her head. "But the fact remains," he said, punctuating his words with tender kisses, "that the Dark Lord has impeccable timing, and every time I fail to answer His call, the strength of His calls will increase exponentially until I go insane. At least, that is what I think will happen. I've never failed to respond immediately to His call. He may just incinerate me from a distance in 20 minutes. Then again, it's very likely that he's going to torture and kill me even if I do go."_

_Hermione ran her thumb softly across his lower lip. "Draco, who are you? What kind of man do you want to be?"_

_Draco rolled over onto his back, taking Hermione with him, and looked up at the ceiling. Hermione laid her head on his chest. She knew that he was carefully thinking about his entire life, and she really did want him to consider his answer carefully._

"_I want to be my own man," he finally answered firmly. "I want to do what I want to do and be what I want to be, not because my father says so, not because the Dark Lord says so, but because I say so."_

"_And if you were your own man, what would you do right now, for you and nobody else?"_

_Draco kissed the top her head. "I'd take you by the hand, and we would run away from here, as fast and as far as we could run."_

_Tears sparkled in Hermione's chocolate brown eyes. "OK."_

"_OK what?"_

"_Let's go."_

_Draco sat up, startled. "Let's go where?"_

"_Let's run away. Together."_

_Draco blinked in disbelief, then laughed ruefully. "Hermione," he said gently. "It's all just wishful thinking, like 'I want a pony.' I was speaking rhetorically."_

"_Why? Don't you want to run away with me? Don't you love me?" Her lower lip quivered._

_He lifted her chin with a slender finger and kissed the trembling from her lips. "Of course I love you. But there's nowhere we can run where He won't find us. He sees everything. He knows everything. He can do everything."_

"_That's not true!" Hermione protested, emphatically shaking her wayward mane. "He's been trying to kill Harry for 16 years now, and he hasn't succeeded."_

_Draco hadn't considered this, and he laughed hollowly. "I never thought I'd be looking to Potter as a role model. But it's different for me anyway. I bear the Dark Mark. He can use it to find me."_

"_We can have it removed."_

"_There is no spell or charm that will remove the Dark Mark."_

"_Then we'll have it surgically removed."_

"_What the hell does that mean?"_

"_I don't know – a doctor could cut or burn it off."_

_Even in the dim firelight of Hermione's room, she could see him pale visibly. He swallowed._

"_He knows the signature of my wand. For that matter, He knows the signature of your wand as well." Hermione was aghast. "There is nowhere in the world that you or I could use magic, even if we got new wands, that would not lead Him straight to us. And I'm not prepared to let Him do anything to hurt you."_

_The light from the fire played off Hermione's features for several heartbeats. "If I had to choose between magic and you," she said softly, "I would choose you, Draco Malfoy."_

_Draco's mouth dropped open. "I . . . I don't know the first thing about life in the muggle world," he finally managed to stutter._

"_I could teach you, you know. It's not like they all live in caves or anything like that."_

_Draco lay back on the bed, lost in thought. How could he, Draco Malfoy, even be considering giving up magic and living as a muggle? He imagined his father having a massive coronary, just so he could join 20 generations of Malfoys spinning in their mausolea. The thought brought a flicker of a smile to his lips._

_Hermione leaned over Draco, stacked one of her fists on top of the other on his chest, and rested her chin on top so that she could look into his eyes. "You're smiling," she observed. "Are you really considering it?"_

_Draco shook his head a little, more as if he were trying to clear the cobwebs out of it than as if it were an indication of a negative. Hermione lowered her head to his chest, planting a kiss and tracing his pectoral muscle with a gentle stroke of her tongue, her toes tantalizing against the sensitive skin of his calf._

_She had a response for every obstacle he threw at her, and her touch made it difficult for him to think of anything else. He ran his hands across her hips, cupping them under her firm backside, and pulled her naked body flush against his._

"_What would we do for money?"_

_She reached up and kissed his mouth. "We'd get jobs, like every other normal person on the planet."_

_His deft fingers massaged her tight ass. She moaned softly against his lips. _

"_What exactly am I qualified to do for a muggle career?" he asked, kissing her back, gently at first and then more passionately._

"_Well, I know one thing you're really good at," she said sexily, moving her hips against his, the erect tips of her breasts brushing against his smooth chest._

_He rolled her over beneath him and pulled his head back from her so that she could see his wicked grin as he smoothly penetrated her with one sharp thrust of his hips, causing her to cry out. "I could get paid for doing this?"_

"_Sure," she responded, her breathing accelerating. "You would make an exceptional gigolo, and there are always porno movies, remember?"_

_Draco laughed briefly, then lost the thread of the conversation as his body increased the speed and depth of its movement, and both of their mouths were soon too busy to continue with something as inconsequential as talking._

_Hermione peaked first, her back arching and sending him deeper into her contracting body, toward his own release. Then he felt it – a prickling in his forearm, followed by a sharp pain. He gritted his teeth – he had been right on all counts. The pain had increased exponentially, and the Master had truly impeccable timing. _

_Hermione felt his body jerk in agony, and she reached up and grabbed both sides of his face before he could pull away again. "Draco, look at me!" she commanded. "Stay with me, Draco. It's just you and me. Nothing else in the world exists." Draco took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to tamp down on the pain in his arm as she held his eyes with her own. Hermione kissed him with a passion that he hadn't known she possessed and, after a few arrhythmic missteps, his body found its way again. As Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and scraped her fingernails across the skin of his back, with a cry of triumph he reached a level of pure bliss he had never known before, and she was right there with him._

_

* * *

They lay together in a tangle of arms and legs, waiting for the next Call. It reminded Hermione of the time she had been at the hospital with her cousin, waiting for the next labor contraction, each one stronger than the one before, building to a crescendo of impossible pain. She talked him through each successive bout just as she had seen her cousin's husband guide her through the labor pains. _

"_Where do you want to go?" Draco asked her. "The world is your oyster."_

"_I don't know," Hermione answered. "We should probably avoid the British Isles completely, don't you think?"_

_Draco nodded. "And any country where my family has estates, which leaves out Spain, France and Italy."_

"_Damn," Hermione muttered. "I've always wanted to see Italy."_

"_Sorry about that," Draco apologized needlessly. "You said you're pretty new to Spanish, so Latin America probably isn't the best bet. Can you pass for a native French or Italian speaker? We could go to the Ivory Coast, Belgium, or Switzerland."_

_Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. I can read them fluently, but I will always sound like an English schoolgirl trying to pronounce them."_

"_Then we had better stick to a country where English is the primary language, hadn't we? The U.S.?"_

_Hermione lifted her head from Draco's chest and looked at him in horror._

"_No, you're right," he agreed. "Too barbaric. Canada?"_

"_Maybe." She drew the word out far too long for his taste._

"_Australia?"_

_Hermione brightened. "That has possibilities. It's very far away, they have Commonwealth accents, and it's supposed to be a beautiful country."_

"_New Zealand?"_

_Hermione slapped his already highly sensitive chest in a "eureka!" gesture. "That's it!"_

_Draco nodded. "New Zealand it is. What about names?"_

"_If you could choose any family name at all, what would it be?"_

"_You know, I used to love the name Malfoy. I thought it was mysterious and dark. It's Old French for 'bad faith,' you know."_

_Hermione nodded._

"_But right now, I'm feeling just the opposite. How about 'Bonafede," Italian for 'good faith'?"_

_Hermione smiled. "I like it."_

"_OK, what about first names?"_

_Hermione thought for a moment. "Hermione is a fairly unusual, or at least old-fashioned, name, and Draco isn't a muggle name at all." She appraised him from top to bottom. "How about Jake? That's a nice masculine muggle name that at least sounds a little like Draco."_

_Draco shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so."_

"_What about me? What name do you think fits me?"_

"_Helena," Draco answered instantly. "As in Helena Troy."_

_Hermione groaned and covered her eyes with her hands. "That's terrible, Draco!" She giggled at the pun._

_Draco pouted. "Here I compared you to the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth, the face that launched a thousand ships, and you're offended?"_

_A smile lit up Hermione's features, and she kissed him gently. "Helena and Jake. I think I'm going to like them."_

_Draco stroked her long hair, then thoughtfully drew up a lock and ran it through his fingers before his eyes. "We'll have to change our appearance," he whispered. "And we can't use any charms or glamours."_

"_It's not difficult to dye hair," Hermione responded drowsily, rubbing her cheek against his chest._

"_How do you think I'd look as a brunette?" Draco asked teasingly. "Can I pass for someone of Italian descent?"_

_Hermione laughed, a genuine but very sleepy laugh that made Draco's heart sing. "I can't wait to see you trying to get a suntan!" she exclaimed._

_Draco raised an eyebrow, but decided against addressing the issue. "Of course," he mused, "you'll have to dye your hair platinum blonde so that people don't get suspicious about our kids. Malfoy genes are incredibly strong."_

"_OK," Hermione assented, dozing off. Then her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright. "What?"_

_Draco looked confused. "What what?"_

"_Did you say 'kids'?"_

_Draco's smooth brow furrowed. Hermione wondered if he was about to be Called again. "Hermione, you said you wanted to run away with me, to leave your whole life, everything and everybody you know and love, behind for me. Does that not mean that you want to get married and have a family as well, at least when the doctors say it's OK?"_

_Hermione squealed and launched her body at Draco's, peppering kisses all over his surprised face. "I accept!" she exclaimed, rising to a kneeling position, her knees on either side of his chest. "Where's my ring?"_

* * *

Four years had passed since that night, and they had never looked back. With Headmaster Dumbledore's help, sought only grudgingly by Draco, they had entered the Wizard Protection Program. 

Hermione had found a job immediately as a research assistant at Victoria University of Wellington. She had already completed her first degree and was working toward a graduate degree in Library and Information Management. Her easy access to all of the muggle world's accumulated knowledge, both online and in the school's massive library, made her feel as though she had been given the keys to the Library at Alexandria, which was why she had named her firstborn as she had.

Draco had decided to put off school for the time being. Much to Hermione's surprise (and his own), he had taken to the muggle world like a duck to water. This was due in large measure to his ability to replace Quidditch with a powerful motorcycle between his legs and to wear head-to-toe leather without receiving a second glance. After a rocky start (what the hell was a résumé?), he had apprenticed himself to, of all things, the special effects department of a Wellington motion picture studio, working on "miniatures" that stood taller than he did. It was an enormous, multi-film project. He merely grinned mysteriously whenever he was asked how he was so familiar with the textures and nuances of ancient stone buildings, particularly castles.

And the three of them rode his motorcycle into the sunset, together, almost every day.

* * *

OK, that's two endings so far for you to choose from. The polls are now open! And before you tell me that this one is too sappy, remember that I told you that I like the first one better. 


	6. Alt Ending 3, Going for the Record

**Good Girl Gone Good**

By TraceyI

I'm back! I hope the people sitting near me at the seminar for nonprofit organizations weren't looking over my shoulder at what I was scribbling.

Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews! My highly scientific method of data tabulation shows that, so far, people prefer the second ending by a ratio of three to one. I think there may be a "cruel to be kind" element in play here – people preferred the second ending only because the first one made them want to slit their wrists with a potato peeler.

Oh yes. To the people whom I offended with my comment that the States are barbaric – I am a Jersey Girl, born and bred. Aside from undergraduate semesters in London and Rome, I have always lived in the States. I was trying to be funny. I am not always successful.

By the way, did anybody figure out where Draco was working in the last ending? I'll give you a hint: according to J.K. Rowling, Draco Malfoy was born on June 5, 1980 (did you all wish him a happy birthday?), so they would have run away in 1997. What special-effects heavy multi-picture epic were they filming in Wellington and the rest of New Zealand in the late 90s and beyond?

So anyway. Guess what! I now own Harry Potter. Not.

Rated M for Mature. Language, darling!

**

* * *

Good Girl Gone Good **

**Alternate Ending #3**

"Going for the Record"

Harry and Ron were alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, facing each other with a grim determination by the fading light of the dying fire. Ron had issued the challenge, Harry had accepted, and there was a tacit agreement that no quarter would be sought or granted. They were clearly in it for the long haul, seeking to set a new record for the longest game of Exploding Snap in Hogwarts's history. The current record – 38 hours, 24 minutes – was held by Fred and George Weasley. Privately, Ron believed that random drug testing would have disqualified his twin brothers, but he had held his tongue as the Gryffindor Common Room had exploded into cheers and the pair of redheads had been carried aloft for a victory lap rivaling the one afforded Harry after completion of the First Task that same year.

With this starry vision before his eyes, Ron had thrown down the gauntlet in front of the huddled masses of bored Gryffindors, yearning to breathe gossip about something new, since the novelty of The Hermione-Draco Situation had worn off. The room had buzzed with electricity, the attention of the audience grasped roughly in Ron and Harry's sweaty hands – for about 45 minutes. At that point, it had slowly started to dawn on the gawking onlookers that watching a 40-hour game of Exploding Snap was roughly as exciting as watching a 40-hour recital of a ballet school's four-to-six-year-old class that didn't even feature any blood relatives.

The students had slowly started to peel off from the tight circle around the two gladiators, some staying in the Common Room and engaging in their own activities and conversations, others heading for their rooms to study or engage in other, less…academic ...pursuits. By the three-hour mark, only Ginny and Neville had remained. Ginny, still dating Harry (and quite jealous that all of the attention that had once been heaped on her as The Girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived had been summarily transferred to The Merger of Gryffindor and Slytherin), had rubbed Harry's shoulders and mopped his brow with a cool, damp handkerchief.

"Oi, what about me?" Ron had demanded.

"He's my boyfriend!" Ginny had retorted angrily.

"And I've been your brother a lot longer than you've been snogging him!"

Harry had sputtered, "_Cough_shagging_cough._"

"What was that, Harry?" Ron had demanded as Ginny had pounded Harry on the back. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Nothing," Ginny had answered rudely for her beau.

Neville had stood and moved toward Ron, who had eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

Neville's face had taken on the hue of Ron's hair. "I was going to give you a shoulder rub."

"Take one step closer and the toad gets it."

* * *

That had been two hours ago. Ginny had been the last man standing, as it were, but had finally pleaded "beauty sleep." It was now after 3:00 in the morning, and Ron and Harry were alone. Even the portraits in their frames were asleep. Neither teenager wanted to continue, but neither was willing to be the first to quit. Their jaws were set. Their heels were dug in. Their eyelids were drooping. 

The portrait hole swung open. Ron, facing the door, raised his eyebrows in surprise and motioned for Harry to look up. Harry glanced over his shoulder briefly, and his face darkened. "What the fuck do you want?" he muttered, turning back to the game.

"Hello Harry. Hello Ronald," Hermione said quietly. "It's been a while."

Harry snorted, but refused to turn or answer. Ron, however, could not help but look directly at his former friend. He was struck by how small she seemed. Her white pajamas hung off her, the sleeves brushing her fingertips. She had obviously lost weight while she was in the infirmary, but how could she have gotten shorter? Despite the daggers that Harry shot him, and momentarily forgetting about his challenge, Ron stood and moved across the room toward Hermione. As he got closer, he could see that she looked so small because she was huddled into herself. Curious, he took another step forward. He saw something in her face that he didn't like at all, and he pointed his wand at the fire with a sharp command, the flames flaring up and accentuating her red eyes and the tears streaked down her face.

"What did that bastard do to you?" Ron demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Her fragile façade crumbling, Hermione collapsed into sobs and fell into Ron's arms.

Harry's head whipped around, and he was on his feet and heading for the door, his wand drawn, the previous few weeks forgotten in an instant. "Where is he, Hermione?" he asked as he walked by her.

Hermione, temporarily beyond the ability to speak, merely sobbed harder into Ron's chest, her entire body wracked with the effort. Ron held her tightly and rocked her back and forth awkwardly. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione flashed back to the way Draco had held her earlier in the evening when he had found out that she had not had a seizure. It was so different. Ron felt stiff and uncomfortable, his tall, lanky frame poking her in odd places. When Draco held her, it felt so natural, as if their bodies were designed from a period before time to fit together.

After Hermione's sobs had begun to subside, Ron struggled to disentangle himself from her grasp and dragged her closer to the fire. "Let me see, Hermione," he insisted as she struggled. He turned her face this way and that by the firelight, examining her. "Where did he hit you?" he inquired roughly. "I don't see any marks on your face. Oh Merlin," he exclaimed, a horrible thought striking him like a blow. "He didn't..." He couldn't bring himself to ask the question but started to pull back the collar of Hermione's pajama top as if to examine the rest of her for telltale marks.

Harry paused, one foot on either side of the portrait hole, and looked up in shock. "I'm going to kill him."

"No!" Hermione managed to squeeze out a cry of anguish, twisting away from Ron. "You don't understand!"

Harry let the portrait hole slam shut and ran across the room, grabbing Hermione by her upper arms. She remembered the way he had shaken her when he had found out about her and Draco, and she flinched and threw her hands up in front of her face in self-defense.

Harry, remembering the same scene, instantly loosened his grip. "Hermione, don't you dare defend that ferret bastard! Look what he's done to you!"

Hermione cringed and shook her head, trying to swallow a fresh round of sobs. "Harry, please," she begged. "Listen to me, Harry! Draco didn't hurt me." The words rushed out of her before she could stop them. "We were making love, and the Dark Lord called him, and I could tell that his Mark hurts so much when he's called, and he's been gone for hours, and I'm so worried about him, and I didn't know where to turn, and..." She suddenly realized what she had said and covered her mouth with her hand.

Harry let go of her completely and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief at what he had just heard, not knowing what to rail against first. He glanced at Ron, whose lower jaw was dangling somewhere beneath the level of his shoulders. "Are you telling me," he finally said, "that you're still fucking Malfoy, _and_ that he's a Death Eater?" His voice rose in pitch in volume with every word, until the words "Death Eater" bounced around the Gryffindor Common Room like the wail of a banshee. Slumbering portraits woke with a start.

"Harry, please," Hermione begged again, her hands reaching toward him. He turned away from her in disgust. "Ron," she pleaded, her eyes swiveling to the tall redhead. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned his back on her as well. "Both of you, please believe me. We never meant for any of this to happen, but we're very much in love with each other."

As if on synchronized pivots, two heads simultaneously turned back to her with identical expressions of astonishment. Silence hung in the air for a long moment. Finally, it was Ron who managed to speak first. "Love?" he squeaked. He looked at Harry in desperation, and was even more surprised at what he saw there.

Harry nodded his head, his shocked expression fading to one of sad submission. "I know."

Ron's head bobbled around, reminding Hermione of a toy dog on the package shelf in a muggle car. "What the bloody fuck do you mean, 'you know'?"

Harry shrugged resignedly. "Didn't you see the look on his face, Ron? When he punched me in the nose, and when Hermione had that seizure? I've only seen that look once before in my life – on my parents' faces in the Mirror of Erised. I don't understand it _at fucking all_, but I know it's true."

The three teenagers looked at each other uncomfortably, all three thinking the same thing: for more than six years, they had been inseparable, sharing everything, and now they had nothing to say to each other.

After several torturous minutes, Ron finally broke the silence. "So, would like to play Exploding Snap? We're going for Fred and George's record."

Hermione blinked. She couldn't think of anything better to do. "Um, sure."

They both looked at Harry, who shrugged.

The Golden Trio sat down and played silently for about 20 minutes. Finally, Harry took a deep breath and spoke. "Hermione," he began, "I've got to ask you. Why Malfoy? I mean, you've always hated him. If your cancer for whatever reason decided it was going to make you want to have sex, why did it have to be Malfoy? Why not me?" Hermione's head snapped up in shock. "Or Ron," Harry hastened to add.

Hermione blushed a deep scarlet. Ron stared at her. He didn't really _want_ to know, but he needed to hear her answer.

"What my tumor really made me do," Hermione began slowly, "was act on all my fantasies." The two boys stared at her in blank incomprehension for a moment. Harry was the first to twig to what she meant. "Are you telling me that, _before_ you had cancer, you fantasized about _Draco fucking Malfoy_!"

Hermione turned the color of Ron's hair and looked like she would burst back into tears at any moment. Finally, she nodded slightly. "Yes, Harry," she admitted. "I've dreamed about him for a long time. You two are like my brothers; I love you with all my heart, but I've never really thought about you that way."

Ron opened his mouth in protest. "But we dated last year!"

"And no offense, Ronald, but it was a disaster! Face it, you couldn't think about me that way either."

Ron looked very sad. "Yes, I could."

The awkward silence returned. Finally, Hermione soldiered on again. "But Draco, Merlin guys, he's every teenage girl's dream. And whether or not you want to admit it, I _am_ a teenage girl. He's handsome, he's rich, he's smart, he's funny in a sarcastic sort of way. I never acted on it before in deference to your feelings, Harry, but with the tumor I just couldn't stop myself."

"No, Hermione, you hated him too!" Harry insisted. "He called you all those horrible names. What about the time you punched him in the nose?"

Hermione didn't think it would be possible to blush more, but she managed it. "I was thirteen years old, Harry. Thirteen year old boys and girls who like each other do stuff like pull pigtails and punch noses so nobody will know they like each other."

"I don't think he called you 'mudblood' for the same reason," Ron piped up.

"No, you're right," Hermione admitted. "But when sex is involved, it turns out that Draco isn't as picky as we all thought." She smirked. Harry did a double-take – she had smirked a very Malfoy-like smirk.

"OK, fine." Harry folded his arms across his chest. "Tumor for you, sex for him. I can almost – _almost –_ comprehend how this all started. But now you can't hide behind the tumor anymore, and you are at least claiming that it's something more than sex for him – for both of you – now."

Hermione shrugged, a strangely eloquent gesture. "I can't explain it to you because I can't explain it to myself. All I can tell you is that there is no place that I would ever rather be than waking up and feeling his arms around me, holding me tight, keeping me safe, making me well, making me whole, in ways I can't even begin to fathom. And the most amazing thing happens when I open my yes and find him just staring at me with this incredibly peaceful, happy look on his face. Before he even said the words to me tonight, I knew that he was in love with me. The best thing I can wish for both of you is that, just one morning in your life, you wake up with that look on your face, and whoever you are holding can see it."

Finally, it was Ron and Harry's collective turn to blush. Harry struggled with whether to take this opportunity to admit to Ron that he was sleeping with his sister, but knew that he could not, in all honesty, say that he felt the way Hermione had just described about Ginny – yet – although he fervently hoped that the day would come soon.

The three friends settled back into a much more companionable silence and continued their game. The sky was just beginning to lighten when suddenly there came a commotion at the portrait hole. "That password expired at midnight," the Rubenesque woman said haughtily. "I can't let you in without the new password."

"I am the Hogwarts Head Boy," came the even haughtier response. "And if you do not open up this minute, I will set fire to your petticoats until you beg me to piss on them and put them out!"

The portrait hole swung open with a huff. Hermione was already on her feet, racing for the door when it opened. She launched herself at Draco, who caught her and swept her whirling around in a passionate embrace, his lips finding hers before he ever allowed her feet to touch the ground.

"Draco, I was so worried!" Hermione exclaimed, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around him. She felt his fingers pause in their stroking of her hair as he winced slightly. Hermione pulled back from him in horror. "Are you OK? What did He do to you? Where does it hurt?" She pulled back his cloak and started to work on the buttons of his shirt, temporarily forgetting the fact that Ron and Harry were watching them. As she pulled his shirt open and ran her hands across his smooth chest, Draco gently grasped both of her wrists with his hands.

"It's OK, baby," he whispered soothingly. "_Cruciatus_ always leaves me a sore for a little while, but there's no real damage."

Hermione was aghast. "He used the _cruciatus_ curse on you…because of me?" She looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes, before she leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on his sore ribs.

"It's OK, baby," he insisted again. "He was actually impressed with your effect on me. For the first time, I didn't cry out. It didn't even bring me to my knees. Thinking of you, back here, waiting for me, made it so that I hardly felt it at all. You have no idea what that means! Because I love you, and because you love me, I can withstand the _cruciatus _curse! That is almost unheard of. He was so impressed, as a matter of fact, that He has offered me my father's position at His right hand."

Hermione smiled uncomfortably. "I know I should be happy that my boyfriend has been offered a promotion," she began as tactfully as she could, "but I'm not sure that I really want to be sleeping with the seventeen-year-old Head Death Eater."

Draco laughed. "You don't understand, Hermione. I can do it, but I don't have to. Don't you see, He doesn't have anything he can hold over my head any more! I can come and go as I please, I can do whatever I want to do. I can rule the world, or I can refuse to go when He calls and stay in bed with you. I can decide. _We_ can decide. Together."

"Oh, Draco." Hermione smiled and laid her hands on the sides of his face. He leaned toward her and their lips met. At first gentle and full of tenderness, their kiss quickly became passionate. Hermione's fingers danced across Draco's still-bare chest, and with a moan he pinned her tiny frame to the wall with his entire body, his hands moving from her waist up into her pajama top and back down again. His hands spanning her waist, he lifted her quickly, and she immediately wrapped her slender legs around his waist. His hands, getting quite a workout, quickly moved to clutch at her delicately formed rear.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Harry finally exclaimed, having reached his breaking point. Really, this was all too much. "Would you two get a room?"

Brought zinging back to reality, Hermione hid her face in the crook of Draco's neck.

Without lowering Hermione, Draco turned his head as if seeing Harry and Ron for the first time, as if just now noticing he was in the Gryffindor Common Room. He grinned in a manner finely calculated to several decimal places to engender the maximum response from his nemesis. "Technically, Potter," he said smugly, "we have several rooms." He turned his face back to Hermione, who brought her head up to meet his gaze. He punctuated his words with kisses of increasing length. "We have two bedrooms (kiss), with two very large, soft beds (kiss), and a living room with a lovely sofa (kiss) and a fireplace with a bearskin rug in front of it (extended kiss), and an enormous bathroom with a bathtub fit for a lord and his lady, and…" Hermione squealed in delight, and Draco's lips were too busy to continue his list. Harry and Ron just stood there, not knowing what else they could do. Pull him off her? It was obvious that that would require pneumatic tools, and Harry was pretty sure there weren't any lying around the vicinity.

Finally, Draco broke off the kiss reluctantly. "But I actually have a better idea."

Hermione, from her elevated vantage point with her back against the wall, quirked an eyebrow and looked down into Draco's face, flushed with excitement, his grey eyes dilated. "You have a better idea than to go back to our rooms and shag me senseless?"

Ron put his hands over his ears. He was fairly certain he was going to have nightmares for the rest of his natural life.

Draco slowly and gracefully lowered Hermione to the floor, his hands squeezing her backside as if they couldn't help themselves before releasing her. Then he kept going lower, reaching into the pocket of his robe as he dropped to one knee. Hermione was terrified. "Draco, are you all right? Is it the _cruciatus_ curse? Should I get Madame Pomfrey?"

Draco looked up at her and ignored her words. "Hermione Jane Granger," Draco began with a deep intake of breath. "Will you marry me, tonight, right now?" He extended his hands to her, opening a midnight blue velvet box with a snap to reveal a magnificent ring, with small petal-shaped diamonds surrounding a larger pink diamond to form a blazing yet delicate flower set in platinum.

Hermione thought she was going to faint. Well, this was quite a new turn, wasn't it? As much as she wanted to just nod her head in ecstatic acquiescence, her rational side reared its ugly head and demanded a few answers. "Draco, are you _sure_?"

"I am more sure about this than I have ever been about anything in my entire life."

"What about your family? What will they think?"

"I don't give a monkey's about what my family thinks, and neither should you."

"But what if they cut you off?"

"They can't."

Hermione looked confused. "Why can't they?"

"Because with my father in Azkaban, I inherited already last June when I turned seventeen. The Manor, everything – it's all in my name. Don't you read _Wizarding Fortune_ magazine?" Hermione shook her head dumbly. "My personal net worth is nearly one hundred million galleons. I'm currently the richest wizard in Europe."

The sound they only vaguely heard was Ron trying to sit down, missing, and sprawling on the ground, his long limbs akimbo.

Draco searched Hermione's face for any sign of deception. "Did you really not know that?" he asked in wonderment, looking up at her from his kneeling position. Hermione shook her head yet again. Draco threw his head back and laughed, pulling Hermione to him tightly and kissing her stomach. "That, baby, is the most wonderful thing you could ever tell me," he said. "The _Wizarding Fortune_ edition with my picture on the cover came out the day before our little…er…adventure on the Hogwarts Express." He glanced at Harry, who was helping Ron to his feet. "I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I always thought that was more than a coincidence."

Draco shifted a little on his knee. He was still quite sore from the effects of the _cruciatus_ curse, and this was not the most comfortable position to hold for several minutes. He wondered whether most proposals took this long, and looked up at Hermione expectantly. But she was not done with her inquisition yet.

"Where did you get the ring?" she asked, planting her hands on her hips. "Surely you didn't go shopping in the middle of the night, knowing that I was back here worrying about you."

Now it was Draco's turn to shake his head. "No, I apparated to the Manor. This ring was made by goblins and has been in my family for six generations. It is a very powerful magical object."

Harry finally found his voice. "That's exactly what you want, Hermione," he interjected, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "A cursed piece of Malfoy estate jewelry."

Draco, unable to retain his balance any longer, slowly raised himself to his feet, wincing at the pins and needles creeping up his leg. He looked directly at Harry but did not move away from Hermione. "This ring," he said clearly, squaring his shoulders and holding the box out for Harry and Ron to see, "can only be given from the male Malfoy heir to his one true beloved. It was commissioned by my great-great-great grandfather for my great-great-great grandmother and has been sitting in a hidden vault deep within Malfoy Manor since her death. Every generation since then, it has been withdrawn exactly once and offered to the current heir's intended. My mother still bears the scar of where this ring burned her when my father tried to place it on her finger, because they did not love each other. My grandmother had the same scar, and my great-grandmother, and my great-great grandmother."

He turned his gaze back to Hermione's tear-filled one and gingerly pried the ring from its box. It glowed faintly at his touch. "Hermione Jane Granger, you are my one true beloved. I ask you again: Will you marry me?" Without taking her chocolate-colored eyes from his grey ones, Hermione lifted her trembling left hand to Draco and nodded. With a sigh, Draco slipped the ring onto her finger, where it burst into a million dancing shards of blinding prismatic light that filled the room and swirled around the couple. When they could all see again, Hermione was wearing the ring as thought it had always been a part of her hand.

Draco leaned down and kissed her gently, a tear sliding down his face. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she responded quietly, slipping her newly bejeweled hand into his larger one. He pulled it to his lips and kissed it chastely.

After a brief beat during which the betrothed couple only had eyes for each other, Practical Hermione shifted into gear. "Now what?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Now we get married," Draco announced with finality. "If I timed the owl right, Dumbledore should be waiting for us." Hermione's eyes widened as Draco turned to Harry and Ron, pulling Hermione in front of him and wrapping his arms around her chest from behind so that the light from the fire gleamed off her ring, her hand clutched in his, and off his smiling eyes. "Potter, Weasley," he addressed them with mock sincerity. "Will you do us the honor of being the witnesses?"

Ron started to slide out of his seat. Harry looked suspicious. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at her intended in shock. "Why?" all three asked at once.

"Because it would mean a lot to Hermione," he answered simply.

To Harry, this was the first thing that had made any sense at all during this long night. He nodded, and Ron, reluctantly, followed. Tears flowed freely down Hermione's cheeks.

Taking his hand as though they were executing a particularly difficult dance move, Hermione spun away from Draco and faced him. "Draco, what am I supposed to wear?"

Draco bowed low. "Allow me, m'lady," he said with a quirked eyebrow, eliciting a giggle from Hermione. Draco took a step back, pulled his wand and closed his eyes. He had pictured this all very clearly while he was being tortured, and it had kept him anchored to this earth. His whispered a series of transfiguration incantations, and when he opened his eyes, Hermione stood before him, a glorious fairy princess. She wore a strapless cocktail-length dress of white satin, accentuating her delicate shoulders and arms and her small but feminine silhouette. The skirt was embroidered with crystal flowers, and gossamer white lace covered all with a dramatic, swirling overskirt that was as insubstantial as mist. Individual locks of hair were caught up in a ring of tiny crystal-bedecked combs that circled her head like a crown, the bulk of her hair caught at the nape of her neck in an elegant crystal flower that mimicked her engagement ring. A few spiraling tendrils, precisely placed, hung just so.

Draco swept his wand down his body and instantaneously looked equally stunning in a grey morning suit and black robe. He pointed his wand at Ron and Harry, who ducked away, only to find that their pajamas had been transformed into elegant dress robes. Unable to hide how much he was impressed, Ron whistled between his teeth. "Oi, do I get to keep these?" Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione took a nervous step toward Harry and Ron. "How do I look?" she asked demurely.

Harry covered the distance to her in a few long strides and gently grasped her upper arms. Hermione thought he was going to argue with her again, perhaps even shake her, but instead he kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful, Hermione," he said sincerely. He looked up at Draco with grudging admiration. "And Malfoy, if the being-the-right-hand-man-of-the-most-evil-wizard-in-history thing doesn't work out, you should go into hairdressing. Are you sure you're not gay?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but I'm sure." He turned to Hermione and offered her his arm. "Are you ready, baby?" She tucked her hand into his elbow. Then a thought struck her. "Flowers!" Without turning, Draco pointed his wand at a vase full of wilted flowers on a side table, which instantly transfigured into a cascading bouquet of tiger lilies and peacock feathers, the splash of color the surprisingly perfect accompaniment to Hermione's white dress. There were also one red and two white rose boutonnieres for Draco, Harry and Ron.

As the men in her life pinned on their respective flowers, Hermione smoothed her skirt happily. Draco smirked as he watched her pat at her hips and a hint of color rushed to her cheeks. He had transfigured her pajama top into her dress, the bottoms into silk hold-up stockings, her fluffy slippers into elegant pumps, and her hair clip and bobby pins into various hair adornments. He winked at her conspiratorially as he saw that she had realized she was going to go to her wedding without any knickers.

* * *

OK, that's three! Let me know what you think! I'm also open to other suggestions. 


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